


a sacrifice for a dead boy

by burningdarkfire



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Episode 121, Episode 122, Episode 128, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29986881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burningdarkfire/pseuds/burningdarkfire
Summary: Everything they risk is for someone who's never coming back.But Bren loved them so much. / And they loved Molly so much.
Relationships: Astrid & Eodwulf & Caleb Widogast, Lucien & Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	a sacrifice for a dead boy

**Author's Note:**

> This week's "throw the fic into the wild before it stop being canon-compliant" moment is brought to you by this [beautiful text post](https://burningdarkfire.tumblr.com/post/645401307687108608/theres-a-better-way-to-word-this-but-everything), which perfectly encapsulated many sad feelings I've been having about Eiselcross and the current Trent adventures. I'd love to do a longer exploration of this idea in the future if it isn't swept aside by the ever-evolving canon.
> 
> Title is taken from the above text post.

Astrid could see the wall of force shimmering, blocking access to the vault of the Vergesson Sanatorium. The air in the room felt heavy, expectant. Claustrophobic.

Trent had left her alone temporarily. Eadwulf had returned hastily, recalled from his mission, and the Archmage had gone to meet and debrief him personally. 

In the silence, Astrid felt like she had a terrible weight pressing upon her. Even though Bren had escaped – even though Trent had said nothing cruel, she recognized the dangerous glimmer in the old man’s eye.

This was still just an inconvenience to him. Excuses would have to be made, but it was still something that could be kept under control. Trent was still curious, focused on Bren and his friends, but Astrid knew intimately by now that his mood could and would change at the snap of a finger. 

A crash sounded upstairs and Astrid heard a muttered string of curses. The sounds of the Sanatorium’s specialty cleaning crew echoed down to her as they fixed whatever they had knocked over.

Astrid opened her palm and closed it. She wondered what it felt like to manipulate gravity, to crumple someone’s body like a wet rag. Of course she had expected Bren and his friends to make an attempt after she’d given them the floor plans, but the bodies violently crumpled by dunamancy left many dangerous questions.

It had been almost an odd relief to hear that he had still tried to throw a Fire Bolt at Trent. Even the old man had chuckled about it when he told her. If she didn’t know better, she would have said he sounded fond of his pupil. 

Astrid touched the scars on her neck gently. She stared at the scorch marks on the floor. 

Yes, the fire was a relief. That was the Bren she once knew. 

* * *

Caleb watched Jester and Lucien sit, facing each other. Beau was tense beside Caleb, prepared for more contempt and ridicule to be spat at them. Scathing words were some of Lucien’s weapons of choice. 

Jester started fanning out the tarot cards. Lucien leaned over them, his tail flicking curiously as he peered at their handmade quality.

“Did you make these yourself?”

“Molly and I,” Jester said with a small flourish. She smiled. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Lucien gave a small hum. He rested his chin on his hands, waiting patiently as Jester finished laying out the entire deck.

“Choose, um,” Jester’s voice squeaked as she fumbled over her words, “three cards?”

Beau shot Caleb a look that he returned, deadpan.

But Lucien was playing along, pointing out a card that Jester flipped over. She read slowly but clearly, and her voice carried easily over the crackle of the fire in the quiet, snowy night. Some of the Tomb Takers turned their heads curiously to watch as she spoke.

“History and the Dream.” Jester started laughing. “How crazy is that?”

She was animated, gesturing and holding the card towards Lucien. He took the card and studied it, though his face was inscrutable. 

“It’s a massive creature that shatters a city. That’s so perfect! Can you believe it?”

Lucien looked at her and smiled. “That’s very interesting.”

Jester beamed.

They flipped two more cards, one after another. 

The Tyrant. Death.

Lucien’s posture changed. He was undeniably engaged. He leaned in to study the art of the cards as Jester presented them to him. He asked questions, and a subtle tension seemed to creep into his shoulders as Jester explained the meaning of the cards.

“He really is superstitious,” Beau whispered.

Lucien showed no indication that he heard Beau’s words. He was still talking with Jester and thanking her for showing him the cards.

Caleb kept a sharp eye on him as Lucien wandered away from the group. Jester was all incredulous smiles as she rejoined him and Beau, but Caleb wanted to make sure Lucien’s mood hadn’t soured too much with the last card.

The tiefling was hard to read. His mood often shifted from one moment to another, and Caleb didn’t want to take any chances. 

Lucien tilted his head back to look at the night sky. The moonlight was soft on his skin as he took in one deep breath and then another that drifted away in the cold air. 

He was so serious and contemplative about the tarot reading. Caleb wanted to laugh.

Molly definitely would have laughed.

* * *

Astrid’s heart was pounding out of her chest. It was reassuring to realize that Bren and his group were at least sharp enough to sniff out her and Eadwulf, but this confrontation was far too public. Multiple curious patrons had their heads turned towards them.

Wulf stood behind her, and she was grateful for his presence. At least four members of the Mighty Nein surrounded them. She was certain the rest could not be far. 

“I’m not helping you,” Astrid said. 

Her gaze flickered to the stairs. She couldn’t see Bren, but she was nearly sure he would be there, listening. Given what she had seen at Vergesson, she suspected he was at his limits for the day.

“I’m helping him.”

Two of them – Fjord and Caduceus – exchanged a glance. Astrid wasn’t sure what or how much Bren had told them about her and Wulf, but she found it hard to read their expressions.

“For what it’s worth,” Caduceus said, “his intentions are good, and if things were different, we would be asking for your help.”

It was a placating sentiment, and Astrid could see it for the olive branch it was. But she was concerned about more than hurt feelings. 

“But they aren’t different, and our intentions are not good.” Astrid spoke curtly. “So you have to go.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel and shoved past the monk. She received a bruised shoulder but little other resistance, and she pushed through the doors of the inn with Wulf behind her.

“We did what we could,” Wulf said quietly as they strode away. “And more than we should.”

They were both painfully aware that Trent had specifically summoned her and Wulf to this mission. He always liked his little tests of loyalty.

Astrid wanted to talk to Wulf about it. She wanted to ask him if he too thought Bren was much quieter now. He used to be so bright, so cocky. He used to make her laugh so much.

Instead, she hurried to Trent. 

The half-orc, Fjord, crossed his arms self-consciously when he wasn’t speaking. Astrid had noticed it in the inn. But the Nein, Bren included, all looked to him to lead the conversation.

Just like Wulf, who normally walked half a step behind her. But as they approached the _Volstrucker_ house, he increased his stride and walked up the path to greet Trent first. He shielded her from the full brunt of the old man’s gaze.

Astrid hid her feelings and swallowed her questions. 

It was easier to act than to ask. 

* * *

“He doesn’t know where we’re going,” Beau grumbled. She trudged in the general direction of Tyffial’s silhouette ahead of them. 

“Neither do we,” Caleb said. He tried to step carefully into the footprints she left behind. “But he has the big picture idea.”

“He can’t anti-magic a punch.” Beau jabbed the air a few times. “I still say we go for it.”

Caleb smiled, but they both understood that Beau spoke entirely out of bravado. 

There was a divide amongst the Nein. Some were open to forcefully and permanently trying to solve the problem of the Nonagon. Others, Caleb suspected, would see an unprovoked act of violence on their part as nearly unforgiveable. So they lingered in stalemate, with the agreement to see what may come.

Lucien seemed happy to play along at their attempts to travel as a cohesive, or at least compromising, group. The tiefling was all smiles. He grinned every time he looked at the Bag of Holding.

They slogged on through the thick ice fog and dense snow. Caleb’s viewpoint had diminished to a field of grey and his own laborious breathing in his ear.

A shout of laughter shattered the relative silence, and Caleb was surprised to hear it came from ahead. Until now, the Tomb Takers had seemed far from jovial – but it was a tense situation on both sides.

It sounded like Lucien was cracking a joke, although the details were lost in the thick ice fog. The Tomb Takers were in a hearty uproar and they slowed enough for Beau, Caleb, and soon the rest of the Mighty Nein to catch up.

Lucien stood with an arm looped around Cree and a grin on his face. “Time for a break and some lunch, I think. Best to keep our spirits up.”

As the Nein generally murmured assent, Caleb kept an eye on Lucien. Some of his companions still chuckled or shook their heads in good humour. They gathered around him and pulled supplies out of their bags. Lucien was in a good mood and he moved among his friends, keeping the chatter alive. 

Caleb could feel the familiarity of the scene wretch at his heart as he took out a boba ball. 

Beau followed his gaze. She gently bumped shoulders with him. “I bet he hates that he can’t stop reminding us of Molly.” 

Caleb shrugged noncommittally as he watched Lucien smile. His vote was always to stop Lucien however necessary. 

And some things were better left unspoken.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here - thank you for reading!
> 
> This fic isn't as polished as most that I like to put out, but the idea just wouldn't let me go. I hope you enjoyed it anyway.
> 
> As ever, feel free to drop me a message at my [tumblr](https://burningdarkfire.tumblr.com/) if you want to chat, and as always, I appreciate every hit, bookmark, comment, kudos, etc - thank you!! 💖💖


End file.
